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We’re in Kuwait, drinking it in

Kuwait City — Dec. 3, 2005

This is a beautiful city. The shimmering blue waters of the Persian Gulf lapping on its shores serve as a pleasant backdrop to the desert sands away in the distance. The peaceful country, which owes its continued existence to the U.S.-led invasion that kicked Saddam’s legions from its burbling oil fields, now plays host to thousands of American troops who work here to support the war raging in Iraq. It’s a long way from the violence and mayhem of places like Fallujah, Ramadi, Baghdad and Mosul.

Photographer Rob Curtis and I stopped over here for a few days before heading into Iraq. A nice pre-game interlude before the danger of a war zone.

But the country does have one major — and I mean major — problem for the troops here.

No booze.

Such a fun place. Perfect for sunset margaritas on the beach. A fine scotch at the end of a long day. A cold beer for lunch on R&R. Not so fast.

I was talking to a very pleasant soldier who was helping me out with something the other day and he was lamenting the lack of spirits in-country. I won’t disclose his name or his job. But let’s just say he could be speaking for a lot of the Americans stuck here on year-long tours. After a particularly rough day on the job, the soldier ached for the suds.

“I could really use a beer,” he told me, a haggard look on his face. I’d have bought him one in a heart beat. Or two.

We chatted a bit more.

“You know, I don’t understand how they can expect people to keep signing up for this if they have to come over here for a year and not have beer or sex,” he added later, referring to General Order No. 1, which forbids alcohol and fraternization in the war zone. “I wish the French were here.”

The French, it is rumored, give their soldiers rations of wine for their meals. And when I was at Manas Air Base in Kyrgyzstan in 2002, the French troops stationed there were influential enough to convince the American base commander to issue ration cards for all the coalition forces there of two beers every 24 hours. Morale was high on that base for sure.

Now, to get a drink in Kuwait, even we civilians have to know the right people, or be very covert about it. Muslim sensibilities forbid it. I told him I was Jonesing for a whiskey myself — thinking back to the time my wife disguised scotch as mouthwash for some friends covering the invasion of Iraq back in March 2003.

Saying goodbye and wishing like hell I could help, my friend offered me a bit of advice.

“I heard it pays to be friends with the Brits here. You should try to meet someone who works at the embassy.” I agreed. They’ve been giving their sailors grog for centuries. But, unfortunately for my friend, I didn’t see the risk-averse U.S. military adopting the same protocol anytime soon.

For now it’ll have to be the hoppy bite of O’Doul’s Amber, which is served in the chow halls in Kuwait and in Iraq. To me, and most everyone else I’ve met, that’s just a tease they’d rather not take in.